SUSPECT’s 2nd Flash Fiction Contest Results

We are very excited to announce the results of SUSPECT’s 2nd Flash Fiction Contest. Held in conjunction with our Gaudy Boy launch of Sharmini Aphrodite’s THE UNREPENTANT in Singapore and the United States, the contest had the title of this thrilling collection of  historical fiction for its theme. Every entry must be between 100–150 words. Open to everyone, the contest was judged by literary scholar and writer Philip Holden, whose own Gaudy Boy story collection, HEAVEN HAS EYES, will be released in January 2026. Contest winners receive a cash prize and publication in SUSPECT.

We received a total of 353 entries, 132 entries more than for our 1st Flash Fiction Contest. They came from 37 countries around the world, 15 more countries than the last contest.

The US leads with 109 entries (CA 17, IL 13, NY 13, MA 5, MI 5, OR 5, PA 5, AZ 4, GA 4, CT 3, FL 3, MO 3, TX 3, WI 3, NJ 2, OH 2, WA 2, IA 1, DC 1, ID 1, MD 1, OK 1, WV 1), followed by India 52, Nigeria 38, Singapore 36, the Philippines 18, the UK 14, Pakistan 8, Myanmar 7, Canada 5, Indonesia 4, South Africa 3, Ghana 4, Australia 3, Hungary 3, Mexico 3, the Netherlands 3, Spain 3, Taiwan 3, Bangladesh 2, China 2, Malaysia 2, Portugal 2, Russia 2, Zambia 2, Belgium 1,  Brazil 1, Bulgaria 1, Cameroon 1, Iran 1, Jamaica 1, Kazakhstan 1, Moldova 1, Poland 1, South Korea 1, Trinidad and Tobago 1, Ukraine 1, Uzbekistan 1.

The names of the winners are followed by the countries where they are currently residing:

First prize (USD300) goes to “How to Season a Wok,” by Pratibha Kumar (India).

Second prize (USD200) goes to “Sunday Service,” by Sarah Chin (United States).

Third Prize (USD100) goes to “The Clockmaker’s Confession,” by Suraj Gupta (India).

Congratulations to the winners! Enjoy their flash fictions below, accompanied by the judge’s comments.

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First Prize

How to Season a Wok

By Pratibha Kumar

My grandmother’s wok is a blackened galaxy in my modern kitchen. My mother whispers I should scrub it. “It’s carcinogenic,” she says, her voice laced with the fear of a generation that learned to forget.

I remember.

This patina is not dirt. It is layers of laughter over midnight noodles, of sizzling garlic for a thousand stir-fries, of the smoke from a thousand feasts that fed a family into existence.

To scour it clean would be to repent for our history, for the humble, glorious fires that forged us. It would be an apology for the smoke in my grandmother’s hair, the calluses on her hands—the very proof of her love.

I will not.

I heat the wok. I let a drop of water dance and vanish. I add oil.

I am seasoning it again with memory, with defiance.

The first slice of ginger hits the surface and sizzles with the sound of home.

Judge’s Comment: The beautifully simple surface of this flash fiction conceals great social and affective depth. The conflicts of three generations over tradition, modernity, and reclaiming the past are expressed through an everyday object, first seen from a distance but then put to sensuous use.

Pratibha Kumari Gupta is a writer and storyteller from Garhani, Bihar, India. He writes because he believes words can change the world. His work reflects the struggles, hopes, and humanity of our times, aiming to inspire, create connection, and spark thoughtful reflection. He believes there is a lesson hidden in every story, and he brings those lessons to life with every word.

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 Second Prize

Sunday Service

By Sarah Chin

The priest raises the chalice—or as I like to think of it, the world’s oldest, guiltiest shot glass. He says the familiar words like a microwaved prayer. The ruby light from the stained glass lands on my calf. A bloodstain. 

For the first time in my life, I do not accept the offered wafer. I keep my wrists crossed over my chest in an X, marking the spot where my heart is threatening to beat through my sternum. My refusal is not empty. I think of the girl I was caught kissing last night, the scent of her hair. Mango and ozone. I rub my tongue against the top of my mouth like a secret geographic feature. 

My family goes on without me. My mother touches my knee with a pressure that reads: do not make this harder. When my sister passes me, her eyes find mine. She smiles.

Judge’s Comment: There’s a wonderfully nuanced use of voice in this piece, which is a snapshot of a turning point in a life. Despite the bravado – the chalice as a shot glass, the prayer microwaved – and the physicality of memory, there’s a sense of guilt, and more, in the bloodstain on the calf. Refusal seems to lead to loneliness, and yet there’s an unexpected solidarity in that final line.

Sarah Chin is a multi-genre writer with a day job in politics based in Chicago. Her work has appeared in The Cincinnati Review, Epiphany, HAD, Points in Case, and elsewhere. She was a finalist for the SmokeLong Flash Fiction Award, nominated for Best of the Net, and shortlisted in contests with Sine Theta Magazine and Pulp Literature. More of her work can be found at sarahchin.net.

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 Third Prize

The Clockmaker’s Confession

By Suraj Gupta

They called my father a collaborator. A man who wound the clocks for the regime, ensuring their trains ran on time to the camps.

I was a child. I only saw the beautiful, terrible precision. The gears within gears.

After the war, they demanded I repent his name. Denounce the mechanics of his compliance.

I became a clockmaker. In my shop, I build timepieces that tell the truth. One chimes thirteen times at midnight. Another runs backwards every anniversary of the liberation.

They are flawed. Unreliable. Useless.

And they are my father’s legacy. 

I will not repent for him. His sin was silence. Mine is memory, etched in brass and sprung steel. I repent only that the world prefers convenient time over honest clocks.

Every tick is a refusal to forget. Every tock, a heart beating in a silent room.

Judge’s Comment: This is a cleverly allegorical piece that, like the best of allegories, makes a reader question exactly how it relates to their world. Are the trains that run on time those of the holocaust, or of partition, or of some other historical or present event? Is the son’s clockmaking a metaphor for the non-instrumental craftsmanship of all art? The final line unites past and present and throws the reader back into the story again.

Suraj Gupta is a writer and storyteller from Garhani, Bihar, India. He writes with the belief that words have the power to change the world. His work explores the struggles, hopes, and humanity of our times, aiming to inspire, foster connection, and spark thoughtful reflection. He believes every story holds a lesson, and he strives to bring those lessons to life through his writing.

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